


Sinners and Saints

by chernoble (stardustardie)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A Finding Nemo Subplot for the Ages, Combat Medic Reader, F/M, Featuring Frisk’s Dad, Gen, PLEASE someone tell me how guns work, Slow Updates, also references to unwind bc i love that series, minor worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustardie/pseuds/chernoble
Summary: After years serving as a combat medic in the Heartland War, you return home - only to receive another mission. This one is from your friend and former Captain, and it’s one that you’re ready and willing to take on.Find and recover his kid - the one he’s never met. The one who disappeared without much of a public stir. The one who you’re pretty sure took a nosedive into the depths of Mount Ebott...Well, the peaceful retiree’s life just isn’t for you, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whoooo okay, i figured i haven’t been overly ambitious lately, so here’s a new story - an undertale one, this time! expect heavy oc use, surface worldbuilding, and a tenuous grasp of war protocol. i’d really appreciate feedback, if any of you are inclined to give it! 
> 
> now, let’s give this thing a shot.

There were some things in life that you couldn’t do, some you should do, and some you couldn’t  _ not _ do. This - trekking up the mountainside through sheets of icy rain, following a hunch and a smattering of clues - firmly sat in the last category. 

The earth below your muddy boots was waterlogged and unstable, and each step made you more and more nervous. According to the locals, rain was a common occurrence on Mount Ebott - and that was exactly the thing you didn’t want to hear. Rain washed out tracks, caused injuries, and was just a nightmare to slog through for even the best trained. 

You shook your head to clear it; it only hammered in the reality of the completelt unexpected situation you’d found yourself in. The memory of your brother-in-arms, pale and desperate and out of his depth, came to you unbidden and only fueled your ascent.

* * *

 

“Saint,” Fitz had pleaded, gripping your hand hard. Still a soldier’s grip, firm and unyielding despite the look on his face. “I just want you to know, I would never ask you to do anything this personal if it wasn’t important.”

“You’ve never asked me to do anything personal, sir,” was your response, even as you felt the blood flow seeping out of your hand. He shook his head at the habitual honorific, pain creasing his brows.

“We’re not on the field anymore,  _ Doc _ ,” he chided you. “We’re done. We’re home. And this isn’t a mission, it’s a favor. Please.”

So you nodded, a gesture to continue, and he unloaded the story of a very complicated relationship on you. It was why you’d dropped all your relationships before leaving to fight - too often, it meant coming back to a fractured, loveless home. 

For Fitz, a veteran of the Heartland War who had served for twelve years, almost since the beginning of the conflict? His loss was complete and it was painful, much more than it would have been for you. 

Even as he laid healing from what he could, right there in his tiny, long-neglected house, he held the symbol of the betrayal up to the light.  _ Javier + Linda,  _ read the gold ring’s engraving. Even the split second it took to translate Javier to Fitz didn’t stop you from immediately understanding.

“She left you.”

“She did more than that, Saint. She played the long game.”

“And what’s that mean, sir - um, Fitz?”

His sigh was weak, and bitter, and yet it contained a world’s worth of pallid amusement.

“I mean she stuck out the four years we spent together, had a kid the first year of my deployment, and strung me along on half-updates and occasional I love yous for every one of those twelve years. Then I come back to find that she’s neck deep in an affair with another man - a dealer, no less, one who’s taken my place in the house - and she packs up and clears out of the apartment the moment I land. I don’t get much more than a ‘sorry, Javi, what did you expect?’” 

His tone is grave and snaps with the crackling residues of anger and hurt, and you can feel your face set into a disgusted scowl. Though you’d only served alongside Fitz for five years, even you recalled him staring fondly at a creased little photo of their wedding from time to time. 

“ _ Que linda, mi Linda, que preciosa _ ,” he’d tell you all.  _ How beautiful, how precious.  _ “You’d better hope you find someone half as good as her.” 

“So you moved out here to this cabin,” you finished. 

“Had no bad memories attached to it,” he confirmed. “Glad I still have it.”

“It’s a nice place.” Then, because you both knew that the story wasn’t over, you continued, “So, what? Need me to track her down, rough her up? Maybe her dealer boyfriend? I still have my gun on me.”

But he was already shaking his head.

“No. It’s not them you need to track down. It’s the kid.”

“The kid?” 

“The aforementioned baby she had, year one? Look, I know next to nothing about them. I don’t even know what they look like. She wasn’t generous on the details. I missed out on my kid’s whole life up to now. And I need them back. They’re all I’ve got.” 

You wondered if you were imagining the tears welling up in Fitz’s eyes, but the sudden slam of his fist on the mattress let you know that no, you weren’t. Fitz was livid and close to breaking. 

“And you know why I need your help with this? Know why I can’t just call her up and say ‘hey, about the actual baby we made together, the one that I doubt you want but that I want very much?’ Ask me, Saint. Ask me why.”

You hesitated. “Why, Fitz?”

And he  _ roared _ back, anguish in his face, “Because they’re  _ gone _ ! She lost her baby, she lost  _ my _ twelve year old kid! And the police! They put up the missing child notices and called it a day. No one’s lifted a finger to bring them back, and me? I would be running all over this frickin’ continent looking if I still had any legs to run on!”

The last burst was delivered with another smack of his hand on the bed - this one right where his thigh would have connected to his knee. Both legs blown off in a heartbeat by a landmine - legs that you could have saved if only you were more observant, more prepared, a better medic. But no, the fearless Captain Fitz had paved the way through the front lines for all his men and women, and he paid for it in the least glorious way: a misplaced step on the single mine left undestroyed. One of the few casualties of the last campaign.

As if sensing the regret that squeezed your heart until it threatened to pop, the guilt that stole your breath and froze your blood, Fitz gripped your hands again, earnest.

“This,” he rumbled, glancing at the half-empty bed, “was not your fault,  _ amiga _ . You were what got me back alive in the first place. I’m not asking you to find my kid because I feel that you owe me. I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, either. But you’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re the toughest woman I know. No - the toughest person. I need your help, Saint; no one else’s.”

The way he looked at you then, as if you were his only hope, strengthened your already stony resolve. Of course you would help. You could do nothing else. 

“Give me the name,” you said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

* * *

 

And, to this point, you had. 

It took knocking down almost every single local’s door, poring over the sparse information and grainy school picture on their missing person’s file -  _ Sam Delgado, 12 years old, last seen XX/XX/20XX _ , it said, and you were glad Linda’d had the decency to give the kid Fitz’s last name - and getting your hands on every bit of CCTV footage you could find from that day. 

But in the end? You found a place to begin searching. It was a small bus stop at the base of Mount Ebott, and the last image of Sam Delgado was of them alone on the bench, facing the woods as if preparing to bolt into them. 

A long shot? Maybe. Either way, the next day you were trudging up the mountain, weighed down by a backpack full of supplies and ammunition, and both your rifle and handgun. A bit overkill? Maybe. But who knows what you’d find up there?

Although, in hindsight, maybe in the end it was because of the extra baggage that you fell. Maybe, had you traveled lighter, you’d have had the strength to twist around and grab at one of the tree roots curling around the pit’s edge. 

But as things happened, you did slip on the slick mud, and you did fall, and you did scrabble at the edge for a valiant few seconds before your fingers gave way and you plummeted down.

As you fell, though, your eye was caught by a small purple lump lying against the base of the last tree you’d passed. A filthy canvas backpack, with two letters scrawled in Sharpie on the front pocket. 

_ S. _ _ D. _

_Well_ , you thought, right before you cracked your head on the rock below, _at least I’m on the right track.  
_

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter toriel.

You were twenty-four, panicking, and the boy with the brown eyes was dying in your arms.

“Help him, help him,” the teenager sobbed. “Help him, you have to help him.” 

Even though he was dying. Even though it was his blood soaking through your fatigues, your skin, your bones… He was concerned about others, and you should have been touched. 

Instead, you were angry. (You were angry, and scared, and guilty, and -)

Your grip on his writhing body tightened. 

“No,” you told him. “I won’t. He’s beyond help.”

“He’s not! Please, you need to listen to me, I -”

“No. You listen to me. It’s over. It’s done.” In ome swift motion, the syringe was in your hand, the tip pressing into his jugular vein. “There’s nothing I can do.”

And just like that, he was livid. Even with his failing strength, he thrashed against you, his body growing weaker with each lost drop of blood.

“You coward!” he screeched, hysterical. “You  _ coward _ ! You aren’t a saint! You never were! Let go of me!  _ Let go!” _

“No, kiddo.  _ You _ let go.”

A press of the plunger and he was fighting, straining to stay awake and alive against the poison in his system. It was a lost cause, though, and you watched him struggle with a slight crease in your brow. The amount of morphine in the syringe was completely lethal.

Around you, the battle raged. Missiles, shooting overhead and exploding into deadly infernos. The crack-crack-crack of gunfire. The screams of the hurt and the dying - and one voice, in particular.

_ Let me out! I want out! I’m so tired of hurting people! I just want to go home, I want to go home, I - _

* * *

_ “- want to go home! I can’t take this, let me out!”  _ someone screamed again, and this time it was no dream. You shot up from the mattress like a thunderbolt, sweating, chest heaving and throat hoarse. The memories of falling headfirst into Mount Ebott clashed and melded confusingly with the flashes and sounds and smells of your nightmare, and for a second you just breathed raggedly, trying to distinguish one from the other.

Wait. A sore throat?

The screaming. That was you. You’d been calling out in your sleep again. Had you not taken your sleeping pills last night or something? A quick sweep through memory lane told you no, you hadn’t. Actually, you hadn’t slept last night at all. Too busy tracking leads.

A soft snort left you, even though the situation wasn’t that funny. Look where tracking leads got you - tired, addled, and in a bed that wasn’t yours.

“ _Wait_ a second,” you said aloud, eyes narrowing slowly. Your palms found the mattress - still warm, with just the right amount of give - and you pushed yourself over into a standing position, flinching when your feet touched the cool floor. Your boots were gone. Socks, too. At least you still had your undershirt and leggings, though. 

This bedroom was entirely unfamiliar. A careful sweep of it showed it to be geared towards children - actually, the bed was almost too small to accommodate you in the first place. The decor was almost charming, and very, very homey, and it put you on edge at once. Time to get out of here, then - there were the rest of your clothes and your boots, clean and dry on a nearby chair, and you pulled them on as quickly as your unsteady hands would allow you to.

Then, a voice came from the doorway and startled you into a slightly wobbly defensive stance. 

“Saint! Child, you’re truly awake now?” said the woman as she entered the room. She sounded concerned, and motherly, and her voice washed gently over your ears like warm milk. She sounded like home, this stranger, and she looked like a…

Huh.

“You’re a _goat_ ,” you said like an idiot, and almost decked yourself.

“Yes, so you said when we first met,” she agreed simply, rather than call you out for gaping. “You are still having memory problems, then?” 

When you first met? “I don’t remember seeing you in my life,” you admitted, starting to feel worried yourself. Had you hit your head harder than you’d thought? Were you hallucinating?

“Then perhaps I should fill you in. I’m sure it will all come back to you.”

“I…” What did one say to such a proposition by such a fantastical looking woman? “Okay. Fill me in. Please.”

“But first, some pie,” she added, raising a paw and waving you forward. “It’s just finished baking.” 

That was how you ended up seated at the table of a goat monster, slowly eating your share of what had to have been the best pie you’d ever tasted.

While you ate, the woman spoke, and you did your best to listen.

“I am the guardian and keeper of these Ruins,” she said, gesturing toward the outside. Maybe she meant the rocky nothingscape you’d glimpsed before straight up concussing yourself. “I patrol the area from time to time, keeping a lookout out for anyone who has fallen into the Underground. That is how I found you, my child. You were barely conscious, enough to tell me your name… and that you were looking for something.”

“That sounds about right, actually,” you said warily, though it was getting hard to be suspicious of this lady when you were shoving a forkful of her own flaky, buttery pie into your mouth. Manners made you pause and tilt your head sheepishly. “I don’t suppose I’ve forgotten your name, too?” 

“Don’t worry, my child,” she waved off goodnaturedly, and offered you her large paw to shake. It felt silky and warm under your own rough, calloused skin, and you almost winced on her behalf. “It’s hardly your fault. My name is Toriel. It’s good to officially meet you, Saint.”

“Likewise, Toriel,” you responded in kind.

Given her name, her pie, and her role in the world, as well as the knowledge that she’d saved you, you quickly warmed to Toriel. 

“Toriel, if I can ask you something…? Well, two somethings, actually.”

“Of course, Saint.”

You pursed your lips, contemplating.

“Well, I don’t know how different your biology is to human biology, but in my experience - and believe me, I have had quite a bit - falling like I did should have concussed me pretty badly. Like, I’m genuinely surprised I’m alive. Even more surprised that nothing hurts. I should be dead, by all accounts. That drop was about thirty feet and humans don’t have that much padding.” 

Toriel nodded sagely as if she had expected the question. Her answer came easily, and had you furrowing your brows.

“Oh! That’s simple, my child. I simply healed you.”

You blinked. “Like, wow, magic?”

“Of course.” 

“Well…” That was a little bit of a bombshell. You hadn’t been that taken aback since Fitz had shown you that he could fold himself into a suitcase. You were half tempted to ask, to prod at the notion - and that in itself was unusual for you. The feeling of the world shifting a little on its axis didn’t take long to settle, though. When you were in the warzone, you either adapted quickly or went home in a box - if they could find the pieces.

The sudden orders to bunker down trench-style like it was World War I again? Stupid for sure, but you had to roll with it. Your own science team discovered a way to nullify the enemy’s antibiotics? Horribly unethical, but keep moving - there were other injustices to fight. The enemy had developed sonic weapons and could see your troops through steel walls? Fascinating, and scary, but nothing to stand around gaping at.

Your life revolved around rolling with things fluidly, so you considered for a moment, added  _ magic  _ to a mental list of things you would have to contend with, and finally said, 

“That’s actually kind of cool.”

Toriel wore a look of surprise at that, before her expression melted into a soft laugh. 

“Stars, you are the first human I’ve met to react so calmly to this! I’ve come to expect a demonstration of my fire abilities soon after they learn I possess them.”

“Fire, too? Wow. Healing, baking and now firebending. You’re actually really impressive, ma’am!”

She waved away your formality. “Thank you, but please, just Toriel will do. I’m not so much of a novelty here in the Underground.” 

“Could have fooled me. That means there are others, right? Wait, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.” You held up your hands as if to stop yourself. “I feel like that will lead into an entire rundown of how this world works, and I would have to grab my notebook from my pack. First, my second question.”

“What is it, my child?”

You held up your empty plate. “Where do I go to wash this?”

 

* * *

  
Toriel did not, in the end, let you wash your plate. 

She did, however, let you stay in her home for a little over a week, until any of the remaining dizziness from the fall had completely vanished and you were both sure that you had recovered. Over that week, you filled almost half of your brand new field journal out with everything she taught you about the Underground - its history, its inhabitants, its strange and partitioned climates. All useful information that you saved in careful shorthand. 

Apparently, she was one of hundreds of monsters who had long been sealed underground after a long war. Typical - humans jumped to conclusions and succumbed to their fear of other just as they had in every other historical scenario. It was upsetting, and you made a mental note to apologize on behalf of your race’s ignorance to every monster you met. 

Toriel herself was a boss monster - an older, stronger version, with a tougher soul than the others. That was another thing you had to keep in mind. They interacted and fought with their souls - a heart-shaped culmination of their entirety.

“Many things can be read from a basic soul check,” Toriel told you at one point, watching you scribble down notes like your life depended on it. “HP, AT, DF, LOVE…” 

They were, you learned, strength attributes much like video game states. HP for health; AT and DF for attack and defense; LOVE, perhaps most worryingly, for violence capacity. Toriel did not dwell much on that last one - something pained and taut entered her eyes at the mention, and you thought it best not to press.

“Human souls are even more powerful than those of monsters, however. And, unlike ours, they shine with color - red for Determination, green for Kindness, orange for Bravery…”

“So they represent our most prevalent quality?” you asked, and when she nodded, you raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Wow. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s mine look like? Can… can you see it?”

Toriel indulges your almost childish need to know with a patient smile and a tilt of the head as she gazes at your sternum. Her liquidy brown eyes seem to sparkle at whatever she sees.

“What is it?” 

Her eyes crinkle with her growing smile, and it makes you grin a bit as well.

“It’s _yellow_ ,” she informed you. “You have a very strong sense of justice.”

Your grin flattens into a more perplexed version of itself. Justice, huh? You couldn’t say you really expected that. Actually, knowing that almost rankled at you, considering how amoral you felt from time to time. Probably just war’s film overtaking your self-perception, but…

“Anything else special about my soul?” you asked. Even though you glanced down at your chest, you couldn’t see anything. You’d just have to rely on her reactions to know more about yourself. 

“Hm… let me check.” With the air of a pediatrician taking a child’s vitals, she leaned a bit closer to you. “Your HP is 280. You’re quite healthy! Your defense is 45, and your attack strength…”

You never got to learn what your attack strength was.

Toriel suddenly jolted backwards from you, her robes flying with her sudden motion. Her eyes were wide with shock and horror, fanged mouth parted in an ‘O,’ and suddenly you could see tongues of fire beginning to lick at her hands.

Days of getting to know her, and you’d never seen her look this frightened. And somewhere deep down, among the knowledge that Toriel was a strong advocator for peace, you knew why.

“Your LOVE, my child,” Toriel breathed, her voice decidedly flat, but on the verge of breaking, “Stars above, why is your LOVE so  _ high _ ?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About that LOVE.

You were very familiar with tunnel vision, with the sudden narrowing of the entire universe to a single focal point and the blood rushing in your ears, pounding like wardrums. For many of the soldiers you worked with, tunnel vision was an advantage if they knew how to use it.

“The world darkens until I can only see the target, lined up in my crosshairs,” mused one of the snipers once, peering into her scope as if reliving the moment. “And then, I need only pull the trigger.”

Not everyone was as lucky as she was, though, or as experienced. You had seen people focus on the wrong thing at the wrong time and pay for it with life or limb. You’d cleared the ones who could control the tunnel vision for the next mission, and you’d saved - and failed to save - those who couldn’t.

Between the two groups, you were one of the former. Even now, you could feel the edges of your vision losing color, the quickening of your heart rate. And the burning in your chest, and the… no. No, something was wrong.

Even zoned in to the point of strain, the world was never monochrome like this, never this dark. You never, never felt so light on your feet, as if you were no longer tethered to the normal rules of reality. The burning at your chest, you realized with a surprised breath, wasn’t so much burning as it was a bright, sharp glow, casting your entire front in sunshine yellow.

It came from the heart bobbing slightly in front of you.

It came from your soul.

This was no normal soul interaction, you realized a split second after. This was a fight, between you and the kindly boss monster you’d come to like.

Toriel’s face had become grim - not merely serious, as it was when she spoke to you about heavier topics, but cool, lined with steel. And beneath the solid mask? You watched her eyes narrow with the slightest hint of worry, of pain.

“You’ve asked me before about the rest of the Underground,” she said, as if piecing facts together in your mind. “But it was never out of simple curiosity, was it?”

The accusation swelling in her tone had you stepping back - or trying to. You couldn’t move from where you stood, as if there was a wall keeping you rooted to your spot. She thought you had come with violent intentions. She thought you were planning to leave the Ruins so you could hurt others. She thought, she thought, she thought, and every word that came out of her mouth stunned you with how much it hurt. 

You didn’t (you _shouldn’t_ ) get attached to people so quickly. Wasn’t cynicism one of the virtues of combat? Weren’t you supposed to keep your sentiment fully hidden, just in case people misunderstood? 

People always misunderstood, and it always stung. And what really rankled with you was how much colder you felt when Toriel spoke again, as if coming to an ultimatum.

“I am the Guardian of these Ruins,” she declared, raising her chin, “and I refuse to let you hurt a single monster within the Underground.” 

She swept a paw out before her - a graceful arc that fell bladelike through the air - and the flickers of fire kindling on her fingers erupted into full-blown arcs of flame that spiraled toward you. 

She intended for you to burn.

Quickly, you moved to step aside, out of the way of the oncoming fireballs. And, quickly, you were reminded that you couldn’t physically step aside anywhere, and at once you fought to quell the sharp worry fogging up your mind. This wasn’t working. This wasn’t working, but there had to be a way, right? It wouldn’t be fair for her to be able to burn you to death without giving you a means to defend yourself. Maybe a more ruthless monster would take that kind of advantage, but not Toriel.

So you closed your eyes and cast your mind back to the lessons she gave you. About monsters, and souls, and how souls were the entire being contained into a small vessel, used to interact and fight. Very little of a monster was physical - that was the main difference. 

That meant that she wasn’t aiming for you, physically. She was aiming for the little yellow soul before you - your tiny bastion of justice. 

_Okay_ , _okay_ , _so_ _just_ … _move_ _the_ _soul_ , _right?_ You tried, almost desperately, to somehow float the heart shape out of the line of fire - but it was too late.

The flames spun directly into your soul, flickering as they hit their target, as your soul quaked from the impact.

It was  _ fire _ . It was  _ immediate _ and it was  _ whole-bodied  _ and you felt the flames eating at your skin like you’d been splattered with acid. The sensation was not at all like a normal burn - this was a new sort of agony that you were only barely tasting, and it completely knocked the breath out of you. Gasping, and pressing your fist to your chest, you screamed. 

And Toriel  _ flinched _ .

You weren’t much of a shrieker - only short cry made it out of your mouth before you gritted your teeth, and you could stand up straight after a couple moment of curling in on yourself while the acid feeling subsided. But even so, for the brief moment your eyes met Toriel’s, you could see the shock in her eyes, and you could see how much your own pain hurt her.

From the second her flames vanished after hitting you, Toriel stood stock still as if waiting for you to make your move. You realized a moment later that yes, she was. The ball was in your court.

The world had closed in on itself, and all you could see was the boss monster. This, normally, would be when you drew your gun and shot whoever was trying to hurt you and yours. This would be when you felt the bullet leave the chamber and pierce through the other person. 

Instinctually, your free hand fumbled slightly for the gun you knew wasn’t strapped to your hip, the one nestled in your pack. You let your fingers drop to your side, watching the way her dark eyes tracked the motion, wary. 

Your world had gone singular again, but you could direct the flow of your energy. And your focal point shifted - not to immediate attack, but to reason.

It really was the strangest thing - here, in this strange pseudo-reality, where the ground was void and the air was cold and fire singed your soul, you could see yourself sorting through the options you could possibly take here and now. You could see your gaze flickering away from the “fight” option, and toward the one that said “act.”

Well, you certainly intended to take action. 

“Toriel,” you said softly, testing the waters, and held up a hand as if to quell the flames. “Toriel, I can explain.”

“I only need to know one thing,” she said in response, shaking off your use of your name as if it hurt her, as if your capacity to hurt was a betrayal. “Why?”

It was a loaded question, one that conveyed a multitude of meanings.  _ Why was your LOVE so high? Why did you hurt people? Why didn’t you tell her? _

_ Why did you hide this? _

And, to be fair, you hadn’t, not really. You came from a world where the things you’d done were fair game and written for everyone to see in the lines of your posture, the look in your eyes. You had never accounted for such a massive cultural difference, and as such you had no problem with honesty.

“I was a soldier, Toriel,” you replied, speaking clearly as if she were standing across a chasm from you. And maybe she was, emotionally. “Before I fell, I was a soldier, and a healer, and it was my job to protect the ones in my care from anyone who tried to hurt them. And humans, I’m sure you know, aren’t honorable in their wars. It’s not like  _ this _ .” You gestured to the space between the two of you, the strangely orderly encounter you stood in. “There are lines I had to cross to protect people, and there are things I can never, ever forget.”

Toriel looked back at you for a long, long moment, and you almost can’t recognize her. It was a terribly lonely thing, you realized, and you knew that you needed to make her understand.

“I have a list,” you said, “of people. Of people I couldn’t save because I moved too slowly, because I hesitated, because I second-guessed myself. Kayden, the boy who lost both arms, who didn’t survive the night. Morgan, who was gunned down mid-triage because I didn’t see the sniper. And Calleigh and Teddy and Garrett and Seth, and all the others who I lost because I was too faint-hearted to save them.

“I have had to hurt others, Toriel. And I have had to kill a few. And the only reason I’m not on the front lines still, fighting a war that doesn’t even matter, is because I couldn’t handle the violence. Saving someone is one thing, but to try to justify the death of another just because it’s another? It’s wrong. And I’m done fighting.” You clenched your hands into fists, willing yourself to stop shaking.

“I am,” you said softly, “a medic. And I am so, so tired of war.”

If words were miles, you’d just run a marathon. And you were, for all intents and purposes, exhausted. 

Perhaps Toriel could see the sense of defeat on your face, the way your entire posture slackened and went vulnerable. Perhaps she could see the effort it was taking you not to see the faces of the dead every time you blinked.

Perhaps you just looked that pitiable, in the moment.

Whatever the case, when Toriel next spoke, it was only to say, “I will show you mercy, my child. This has gone on long enough for both of us.”

The color bled back into the world, the invisible walls disappeared, and when Toriel rushed to grip your arms, you realized you were sinking to your knees.

And when Toriel softly said, “oh, don’t cry,” you belatedly realized you were.

  
  
  



End file.
